Francie Observes
by Loafer
Summary: Post S7. A little thingy about Francie McNab's thoughts and experience of Carlton Lassiter after Buzz gets fired from the SBPD.


**Disclaimer**: .ereht os ; redro esrever ni epyt ot emit eht ekat ot gnilliw ma I tub _**hcysp**_ fo trap yna nwo t'nod I

**Rating**: wow, guess it's K+. First time for me.

**Summary**: This is not even remotely the story I _intended_ to write today. It's not even a story. Vignette, really. Francie McNab's thoughts and experience of Carlton Lassiter after Buzz gets fired from the SBPD.

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Buzz went through a few weeks of significant depression after his sudden termination.

Francie did her best to cook and bake him out of it, but she knew when he was putting on a brave face, and he knew she knew, and there were more than a few nights when she had to soothe him to sleep.

Her big guy was adrift. Losing the job he'd built his dreams around—being a police officer, a protector, an upholder of the law—was losing his identity.

Francie understood the stress experienced by veteran, hard-boiled cops who couldn't work anymore because of injuries or retirement, but where Buzz was different was that he had _her_. She wanted to be enough for him. She knew she was most everything to him, but the badge… the badge was the cake under the icing.

He was distraught not just over the loss of the job but also over what he perceived as the loss of whatever ground he'd gained in the eyes of his superior officers over the years. He still worshipped Detective Lassiter, and knew whether Lassiter ever admitted it or not that he had come a long way in that man's eyes.

As for Lassiter, she didn't know what to think about him being back on the street. Buzz saw him once in a patrol car, wearing the black uniform with as much pride as he'd worn the suit and tie.

Buzz had a new job as a security guard. It had been easy to get (his height alone might have carried more weight for the interviewer than his experience as a cop), but it brought him no joy. Patrolling the large electronics store at night was lonely; he needed _people_.

Detective Lassiter had often told him he was too nice to those he arrested, but Francie figured as long as he still had a perp in cuffs, what harm was there in being nice? Besides, Buzz was seldom fazed when someone was rude; certainly he was unfazed when he mentioned Lassiter snapping at him.

There were times when she'd wanted to drive down to the station and slap the icy head detective right in the face for being mean to her husband, but Buzz always pleaded with her to stand down.

"Don't you have any self-respect? He shouldn't talk to you that way!" she once exclaimed.

His surprised answer was, "Of course I have self-respect. I probably have more than he does. He has to be the way he is, Francie. He feels like he has to fight for every bit of ground he has."

She asked him why. He shrugged and said he didn't know, but he _did_ know Lassiter understood he could count on Buzz, even between bellows, and if Lassiter didn't believe Buzz was doing a good job, Buzz would have been reassigned a long time ago.

He was probably right, Francie realized. While she didn't hold Lassiter in quite the same high regard Buzz did, it was clear he was all about justice and hard work: about being a credit to the badge. That she could support, and since her loving, wonderful Buzz was the finest man who ever lived, any man _he_ respected had to be _nearly_ as fine as he was.

She found herself curious about Detective Lassiter now that he'd been demoted, and assumed he was in even more of a foul mood than usual. But when she asked Buzz, who still had many friends on the force, he reported that they said he was simply stoic. He didn't talk much, he didn't interact much. He didn't tolerate mockery any more than before, and the other uniforms were staying clear of him (no one believed he would stay down for long; men like Harris Trout didn't stick around forever). He showed up on time; he did his patrols efficiently and competently; he stayed out of Trout's way.

It seemed his arrest record was just as high now as before. Buzz was proud on his behalf.

He heard, he told her one night with a touch of fear in his voice, that some folks thought Lassiter might retire.

"Why shouldn't he?" Francie asked. "If this man Trout is making everything so difficult, why shouldn't Lassiter get out while he can?"

Buzz was horrified. "Lassiter can't not be a cop."

"Why not? He's only in his forties, right? He can still find another type of work."

"No, Francie, _no_. It's okay for me to be a security guard because it's only temporary, see, and I'm just… you know… me. I know I can get back on a police force somewhere, especially if we move out of Santa Barbara to be closer to your mom instead of buying a condo. But if Lassiter retires, he won't ever come back. He's not the kind of man who'd come back once he made up his mind to go. And if Lassiter's not a cop… well… I don't know, Francie. I just don't know if the city can take that."

She tried not to laugh at his solemn expression. "Buzz, sweetie, he's one cop in a city full of good cops. He can move to another town too. He can become a private detective. He has options."

This troubled her sweet husband considerably. "But… you don't understand. That man was born to run the Santa Barbara detective squad."

"Look, I know you look up to him and I know he's a good cop—"

"A great cop," he interrupted.

"A great cop," she agreed. "But he's just a man, honey. And if he had what it takes to become the youngest head detective in SBPD history, then he's got what it takes to do anything else he sets his mind to. Think of all the good detectives he's trained over the years. They'll still be here. So will you once you get back on the force somewhere."

Slowly, Buzz nodded, but she knew he wasn't convinced. "I just can't imagine Detective Lassiter being… not-Detective Lassiter."

She gave him a second serving of blackberry cobbler, and that seemed to ease his mind.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The car broke down a few blocks from the library, and Francie debated whether or not to call Buzz. This time of day he would be sound asleep—their "new normal" was that she'd cook him a big breakfast when he came off the night shift and they'd spend the morning together before he went to bed and she went to her part-time job.

Right about now he'd be starting to snore, and she hated to disturb him. The library was so close she could walk, and she could ask one of the maintenance men to take a look at the vehicle. Buzz would fuss later, but she'd distract him with her feminine wiles, as much as it made her blush to even think such a thing.

She was no more than a block away when a police cruiser pulled up quietly beside her.

"Ma'am," barked the man inside, keeping the cruiser rolling until she stopped to face him.

Francie smiled, because she always smiled, and he took off his silvery sunglasses and recognized her at the same time she recognized him.

"Detective Lassiter," she exclaimed, thinking the crisp black uniform and his silver-black hair only enhanced his brilliant blue eyes. "How nice to see you."

"It's Officer now, Mrs. McNab." He was gruff, but that was normal.

"Francie," she assured him. "Please." She decided not to express her regret for his demotion, guessing he was a proud man who would prefer it not be mentioned.

He got out of the cruiser smoothly, closing the door as he approached. "Is that your Ford back there with the blinkers on?"

Although he was shorter than Buzz by at least three or four inches, he still seemed incredibly tall and compelling, Francie thought. She could see how criminals might bend to his will the way Buzz had described admiringly so often.

He was waiting, eyebrows raised.

Oh—the question. "Yes. I'm sorry. I won't be long, I hope. Is it not far enough onto the shoulder?"

"It's fine." He glanced back at it, as if double-checking his personal standards. "What's the trouble?"

"It has some sort of battery problem. I don't really understand it but Buzz was going to have it fixed when he got paid next time." She was about to say money was tight, but somehow—her mother always said she had a bit of a sixth sense—she knew he already understood. There was something sharply perceptive in his whole _bearing_.

A shadow passed over his lean face; he looked pained. "I'm sorry."

Francie was puzzled. "For what?"

For a moment he looked even more pained. "About his termination."

"Oh, but that wasn't your fault. He knew—" She hesitated. "We both knew moonlighting was against department policy, but… well, we were trying to save for the condo and we figured it was just the occasional weekend… but that's no excuse." She felt ashamed. "It was my fault."

Detective Lassiter's frown seemed to intensify the blue of his eyes. "Come again?"

"I shouldn't have risked his job." There. She'd said it. Buzz protested the first time she said it to him, but she felt it keenly.

"You didn't—" He stopped, clearly reining himself in. "If it's your fault, it's mine too. I found out about the moonlighting the day I got married and I could have reported him or forced him to stop any time after that, or even arranged for him to get some overtime to help you out."

Francie was touched. "That is so nice of you to say, Detective. Buzz thinks it's all his fault, but I've never let him take all the blame."

He blinked. "Dear God, you're the same person."

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing. Have you called him?"

"Oh—no, I decided not to wake him up. He works nights now, you know. I can get someone from the library to help me."

He glanced at his watch and seemed to come to some sort of snap decision. "I'll take you the rest of the way. Can you get a ride home from someone there?"

"Well, I—yes, I suppose, but what about my—"

"I'll arrange to have it towed back to your apartment complex."

"Detective Lassiter, you really don't have to do that," she protested, even while he was efficiently taking her elbow and leading her around to the passenger side of the cruiser.

"It's not 'Detective' anymore." His tone was neutral, and his grip firm. "Get in."

She did, because it was hard to say no to someone as imposing as Carlton Lassiter, but she wasn't sure she could call him 'Officer.'

He slid in beside her and asked if they still lived in the same complex, and she was surprised—but shouldn't have been, given what Buzz said about him—that he remembered the apartment number too.

"I'll make sure the driver doesn't drop it off too close." When she glanced at him, puzzled, he added diffidently, "So he doesn't wake McNab. I mean, Buzz."

How thoughtful, she mused. "You know, he doesn't mind you calling him McNab. He says it makes him feel more professional to be called by his last name."

Officer—which didn't even sound right in her _head_—Lassiter nodded. "I heard he was working security. How's he doing?"

"He's a bit lonely," she admitted. "But he's doing great. They said they'd move him to days in a few weeks."

As she spoke, he was pulling into the library parking lot.

"What Trout did was wrong," he said flatly. "A warning would have been in order. Instant termination for an officer of his standing was short-sighted. Stupid, even. The department _needs_ dedicated officers like Buzz."

Francie stared at him: this was… this was _praise_.

He met her gaze without expression, but there was a glint in the cool blue eyes which told her exactly how serious he was; a look she imagined was a powerful tool on the job.

"Thank you so much for saying so," she said earnestly.

His gaze shifted to the steering wheel, and he mumbled something.

"And for the ride," she added, grateful for that too. "How's the new Mrs. Lassiter?"

The sudden smile he gave her was genuine, and transformed him from steely officer to human male—to _bridegroom_.

"Marlowe is amazing. She's been my anchor the past two months." After a pause, during which Francie could only helplessly beam at his obvious happiness, he added softly, "Like you are for Buzz, I'd wager."

She felt her cheeks warming. "I hope I am. Thank you, _Detective_ Lassiter."

He didn't correct her this time, and she thought he looked both amused and appreciative. "I'll get the car towed. Stay safe, Francie. Give Buzz my regards."

She promised she would, and after she got out of the cruiser, she watched him drive back toward her car while she puzzled over the unexpected pleasantness of this encounter.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Buzz, when she told him that evening before his shift, was both thrilled and embarrassed. (It was part of his charm, and what made him so eminently huggable.)

True to his word, Lassiter had the car towed to a spot several apartments down, and Buzz had slept through the whole thing. Her coworker Skipper had brought her home, and Buzz only learned what happened when Francie told him over a nice tuna casserole and strawberry shortcake.

He fretted over whether to call Lassiter to thank him, or send a card or email. Francie agreed he should definitely be thanked in some way—her vote was for baked goods—but didn't think Buzz should try to do it person or over the phone lest they embarrass the man. A card, she promised him. They'd send him a nice card.

Buzz also fretted over the tow charge: it was one more financial setback, and he still needed to get the battery replaced in her car.

But the bill never came, and when she followed up with the towing company (thanks to Midge, who was always spying at her window and thus knew which tow service it was), somehow it didn't surprise her one bit that the company had been specifically instructed not to bill the McNabs… by one C. Lassiter, who had paid the bill in full himself.

In the moments after she told Buzz, she thought he might cry.

She already had a fresh tissue in her hand, so she passed the box over to him.

They had to send a second card, and this one was accompanied by a tin of her double-chocolate brownies.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**F I N**


End file.
